Damaged Goods

>You're a guy who's just moved in to town.
>Your job moved, and so did you.
>You've just finished settling into your new apartment.
>Nice enough building, though your digs could stand to be a bit bigger.
>But with the diaspora of Cleveland citizens, housing around here is hard to get.
>You have 3 rooms, not counting the bathroom. A bedroom, a main living area with a kitchen and stuff, and a pretty spacious closet.
>At least the living area has plenty of space.
>Soft carpeting, too.
>It's a Saturday afternoon, and you feel alone.
>You don’t' know anyone in this town, and you're not exactly the social type.
>Your walk in closet isn't really being used.
>Why not get a fluffy pony?
>Never owned one yourself, but you've sat for your friend's fluffies a few times.
>They're so cute. Stupid and childlike, but very sweet and affectionate.
>Aside from their occasional mishap or 'accident,' they're adorable pets that don't need much space.
>It'll be nice to come home from work every day to a pet that loves you and doesn't hesitate to show it.
>The benefit of this change of scenery is that your commute is cut down considerably, and your hours are your regular 9-5 shtick. Plenty of time to spend with a fluffy pony to keep it happy.
>You can see it now.
>A little ball of fluff waddling as fast as its stubby hooves will go, overjoyed to see you as it hugs your legs closely.
>Or maybe it stands up on its back two legs and reaches up at you, the universal symbol for 'pick me up and hug me closely.'
>Soft cuddles, adorable playtime, an unending ball of joy and cheer just waiting for you every evening.
>Yeah, you're totally up for that.
>You look up the nearest fluffy shelter, and there's one within walking distance.
>May as well take the car, since you'll also need to buy fluffy care stuff, and that would be a pain to carry home.
>Time to get you a pet!

>It's actually pretty nice. The smell could use improvement, but all animal shelters are like that.
>At the counter is a friendly looking black male.
>Seems about your age.
>He greets you with a smile.
>”Hey! Welcome. I'm guessing you're here to get a pet fluffy?”
>”Depends, you have any?”
>He laughs. “Yeah, we might have a few in the back. Follow me.”
>You follow him into the back room, where the fluffies are kept.
>You have read many tales of pet shelters from hell.
>Animals packed into cages far past their recommended capacity.
>Disease, starvation, and filth prevalent, as the cramped conditions cause illness and death to spread.
>Animals with their paws bloody as they try to dig through metal and stone in a desperate attempt to escape their living nightmare.
>In fluffy shelters, it can be just as bad.
>The ones that are sent to be put down are the lucky ones.
>The unlucky ones are picked up by abusers who have the common sense to be discreet in their depravity. From the frying pan to the fire for such poor, unfortunate fluffies.
>The blessed ones are the ones that actually get adopted by sane, caring owners.
>All the others are left to fester in their own feces, as their cages are too cramped to even think of cleaning them until the inhabitants have died one way or another.
>In these shelters lay the damned and the abandoned, whose hope died the moment they first set eyes upon this mass grave of the soon to die.
>Thankfully, this shelter is not one of those places at all.
>But it is pretty goddamn loud.
>The cages hold 2 fluffies each, and they're stacked 5 cages high.
>The top row is entirely pegasus fluffies. Presumably because they don't have as much of a problem with heights.
>Last time you had to babysit your friend's white and orange pegasus fluffy, Justine, she managed to get on top of your entertainment center and jump off.
>Her feeble wings slowed her fall enough to not break anything, but she landed badly and sprained her front hoof.
>Many hugs were given that day. At least she didn't try to pull that shit again.
>Anyway, as soon as the fluffies notice you, your ears are assaulted on all sides by a cacophony of pleas.
>”New daddy!”
>”Pwease take fwuffy!”
>”Be good fwuffy! Wan daddy!”
>”Yay daddy hewe! Take home pwease?”
>”Nu wike smewwy fwend, daddy take fwuffy?”
>The babbling continues as you look at each cage.
>All the fluffies are eager to endear themselves to you, and they plead in their adorably squeaky voices.
>You reach through the bars to pet a few and they immediately rub against your hand or lick it.
>How precious.
>Probably not going to want a pegasus, they're too rambunctious for your apartment.
>A unicorn or earth fluffy would be a lot easier.
>Probably an earth fluffy, that way you won't have to worry about that horn poking your eye out when you give hugs.
>”Is this your first time getting a fluffy?”
>The employee can tell from the way you're looking around that you're new to this.
>”Yeah, first time owning one. Only ever sat for them before. Cute little furballs, even if they're as smart as a bag of sand.”
>The guy just shrugs. “They're not all quite that stupid. Just...most of them. But if you want affection, you can't get any better than a fluffy pony.”
>That's for sure. You give a fluffy some spaghetti, and you're their best friend.
>”I'm looking for one that'll be content with a kinda small apartment. Got any beginner fluffies?”
>The guy laughs.
>”Well, they're all pretty easy to take care of if you have the proper setup. A room set up to be completely safe for a fluffy where it can play during the day, enough good food and water, and enough time every day to be able to give it attention, and most fluffies will be fine with that. I'd recommend getting a fully grown fluffy, maybe one that's already had an owner. They're more receptive to training, and might already be litterbox trained. Foals are cuter, but they can be a handful.”
>You look up.
>”You guys have foals?”
>”Yeah, there's a section over here for them. They have bigger cages so they can run around and sleep with their mothers.”
>”Can I see?”
>”I thought you wanted an easy fluffy. Foals aren't easy.”
>”I know. I just want to see them. Baby animals are always cute.”
>The guy smiles.
>”Fair enough. Follow me.”


>Near the back are where the foals are kept.
>Each cage has a fluffy mother and her children.
>The ages of the foals range from newborn to almost ready to be considered adults.
>And they're all cavity-inducingly cute.
>Little babies curled up in their mother's belly fluff as they all have their afternoon nap, the mother softly whispering that she loves them.
>Foals playing with a little wiffle ball while their mother feeds a hungry sibling.
>One mother lying on her back, cooing while her newborn babies suckle hungrily from her teats.
>It's a whole damn circus of cuteness.
>You can feel your kidneys shutting down more and more as you look through the cages.
>Some of the mothers are protective, holding their babies close when they see you looking.
>”Pwease nu take babehs! Dey too wittwe, nee' mumma! Nee' miwk!”
>You'd pet her to put her at ease, but these cages can't be reached through, to keep babies from getting out.
>”Easy, little girl. I'm not gonna take your babies. I just wanted to say hello to them. They're such pretty babies. I bet you're really proud.”
>That reassures the momma, and she beams with pride.
>”Dey good babehs! Wuv babehs! Dey gwow up an' be stwong fuwffies!”
>The babies all cuddle around their mother, hugging her with their tiny little legs, chirping “Wub! Wub! Wub mumma!”
>Ah, parenthood.
>A similar scene plays out at each cage, with varying degrees of suspicion by the mothers.
>Some are even less trusting than the first, others can't wait to show off their babies.
>It's....it's just adorable, man. Fucking Scrooge McDuck would be moved to make a donation to the shelter.
>And if you know anything about that guy, you know that's saying something.
>I'm kinda running out of ways to describe the cuteness here, so let's move on.
>The last cage is separated by a cardboard panel from the rest of the cages.
>Inside is a group of 4 foals, but no mother.
>They're all pegasus foals, and 3 of them are playing with a rubber bouncy ball together.
>The fourth is laying with its back to a corner, its front hooves splayed out in front of it.
>It has a sky blue coat with a bright orange mane. With its backside tucked into the corner, you can't see its tail.
>It appears to be napping, but unlike the napping babies you saw earlier, this one doesn't seem very happy.
>”What's up with this cage?”
>The guy sighs. “These foals lost their mother about a week ago. She got a bad case of fluff rot, and we didn't notice it until it was too late to fix.”
>”Fluff rot?”
>”It's a fatal condition. Ever heard of trench foot?”
>”Yeah. You get wet feet that stay wet for too long and the skin starts rotting.”
>”It's kinda like that. Continuously wet fur keeps the skin underneath from breathing, and you start getting sores. Their skin is pretty easily torn once you get past the fluff, so the sores quickly open up and get infected. Once that happens, there's not much you can do but treat the wound and make them comfortable until they....go...”
>”Do you get fluff rot a lot?”
>”In the really bad shelters, it can be rampant. Nobody cleans the cages, so the fluffies are left to just stand in their own shit and piss. Here we keep a close eye on it. The cages are cleaned constantly, and we try to make them do their business in one area only. Most of them are pretty good about it, and because we have 2 fluffies to each cage, they keep each other in line. No fluffy wants to wallow in its own filth. But with the mothers, they don't have that. We clean these cages even more often, but this mother was a...special case.”
>”Special how?”
>”Well, that foal in the corner was always riding around on her back. It's a pretty common practice for mothers, but there will come a point where the mothers make the babies get off and walk on their own. This baby almost never left, which is how the mother's fluff rot set in under it. By the time we noticed, it was too late. She didn't last very long.”
>After seeing all the mothers out there happily caring for their babies, the story is enough to get you choked up.
>You muster every ounce of will to keep from showing tears. You're not one of those tough guy meatheads who thinks it's weak to cry, but it's still something you try to avoid doing in public.
>”Why didn't she make the baby get off?”
>”I think she knew what the baby must have felt like, so she didn't want to make him even more sad.”
>”Wait, what?”
>The guy looks at you, then at the cage.
>”Ohhhh, you can't tell from this angle. Hold on.”
>He opens the top latch and reaches in to grab the fluffy in the corner. The other fluffies barely even notice and keep playing. One stops to blow a quick raspberry at the hand grabbing its sibling, then goes back to pushing the ball.
>Odd.
>The guy brings the slowly waking fluffy over to you.
>”Whaaa? Why move fwuffy? Is time fo cwean?”
>”Not right now, little guy. This nice person wants to see you.”
>He holds the fluffy under its forearms and lets it bottom side hang.
>To your surprise, the guy has no tail!
>You look closer, and he doesn't seem to have any back legs, either.
>”What happened to him?”
>”Birthing complications. He was the last one out, and his back legs and tail got crushed on the way out. We had to amputate both. Fortunately, that was the extent of the damage. Rest of him works just fine. Unfortunately, it meant that he wasn't able to walk at all. His mother carried him around all the time so he wouldn't feel left out.”
>”Sounds like a good mother he had.”
>The guy nods. “Most mothers love their children more than anything else, but I've never seen a fluffy more nurturing than her.”
>The fluffy yawns, stretching his legs out like he was a child waking up from a nap. Which he kinda is.
>”What about his brothers and sisters? They didn't seem to care that you were taking him out of the cage.”
>”They used to love him just like any other fluffy. Gave him hugs, carried his food over to him, helped push him to the 'poopies place' when they were all learning to go in the corner. All that changed after their mother got the fluff rot. We shaved the spot where the infection was so it could be treated and cleaned. Even a fluffy could figure out it was the same spot that the hindless fluffy had been sitting all that time. When the mother died, they all said it was his fault. We made it clear that they couldn't hurt him or they'd be punished, but they never played with him or hugged him since. Most of the time, they ignore him, but when they do interact with him, it's either to call him names or to tell him it's his fault their mother's gone.”
>You hold your arms out and he puts the fluffy in your arms.
>”Hewwo, mistah.”
>He waves at you with one of his hooves.
>”Hello, dude. How are you doing?”
>The fluffy's expression changes from happy to get attention to downcast and sullen.
>”Miss mumma. Mumma come back fo' fwuffy?”
>Deciding to not risk upsetting the kid further, you stay silent and look him over.
>It always amazed you how light fluffies were. Without his legs or tail, this one's even more light.
>”Ever since his mother died, he's become practically an empty shell. He's fully weaned like the rest of his family, but I don't know what his odds are of getting adopted. Every night we can hear him crying for his mother to come back.”
>Fuck it. You let those tears fall. Silently, but still they come.
>You pull the little foal close to you and hug him tight. It's probably the first true hug he's had in a long time.
>The foal sniffles and hugs you back, as much as he can with only two legs.
>After a few silent moments, the employee clears his throat.
>”I'm sorry, I didn't want to kill the mood. Let's head back to the front so you can find a fluffy to take home, alright?”
>He turns around to head back towards the front.
>”No. I want this one.”
>He turns back around to face you.
>”Come again?”
>”I said I'll take this foal.”
>”Look man, I didn't mean to tug at your heartstrings. I appreciate your intentions, but not only is that a foal, it's a disabled foal. For a starting fluffy owner, that's going to be a double handful. You're going to be in over your head.”
>You look down at the fluffy in your hands.
>He's looking up at you, with an expression you never thought fluffies could have.
>Innocent, simple minded, but at the same time deeply pained. A child who has lost his mother, who is no longer loved by the ones he used to call family, for whom there is no happiness in his life.
>And here he lays in your hands, looking at you, his eyes almost pleading, begging you to explain to him why all this has happened, why everything he ever cared about has been taken away from him.
>You don't have an answer for him.
>But you can do something else for him.
>You can take him away from it all.
>It will be hard, to be sure. You've never cared for a fluffy longer than a week. And they were always fully grown, with all of their faculties intact.
>”Don't care. He's coming home with me. I'll just have to learn fast.”
>The guy takes a long look at you and sighs.
>”Well, if you have your heart set on it, I'll go get the paperwork started. Meet me back at the front in a minute.”
>He rounds the corner and is gone.
>”Yuu, you weawwy take fwuffy home?”
>The fluffy's expression hasn't changed. The last third of his life (2 weeks) has been so miserable for him that he has a hard time believing it's about to improve.
>You shake yourself out of your gloom and break a smile.
>”That's right, little fluffy. I'm going to be your daddy!”
>He doesn't react, he only wiggles his legs at you.
>Huh?
>Now he's stretching them out as far as he can reach towards your face....
>Oh. Derp. He want you to lift him up closer to you.
>You pull him closer and closer, but still he reaches for you until he's about 2 inches from your face.
>He then hugs your cheeks with his little legs and licks your nose.
>”Hey, that tickles!”
>”Haf daddy! Wuv daddy! Wan' gif kissies!”
>How cute.
>”Come on, little guy, let's go home.”
>You head for the front.
>”Nu! Nu yet!”
>You stop. “Something wrong?”
>”See bwuddahs an' sissies 'gain?”
>Oh dear. This might be painful.
>”No, I'm afraid you might not see them again. But I'm sure they'll all get good homes soon!”
>”Can say bye?”
>”Um, sure, I guess.”
>You carry him over to the cage and hold him to the bars.
>”Bwuddahs! Sissies! Fwuffy get daddy, go home wif' daddy! Fwuffy miss you, wuv bwuddahs an' sissies!”
>He waves his little hoof at them, looking happy despite being sad to leave them.
>One little colt waddles over to the bars and blows a rasberry.
>”Why dummy bwuddah get daddy? You bad fwuffy, make mumma go 'way! Wan' daddy! Am good fwuffy, dat bad fwuffy!”
>The other siblings say similar things, either blowing rasberries, smacking the bars with their soft stumpy legs, or lifting their tail and defecating in his direction. Sometimes on their other siblings, much to their consternation.
>Your fluffy looks absolutely crushed, to see his beloved siblings seeing him off in such a way.
>Tears form in his eyes, and he begins to cry.
>No.
>You may have chosen him only a few minutes ago, but nobody makes your fluffy cry like that.
>You slam your fist down hard on the top of their cage, shouting “Bad fluffies!”
>The fluffies in the cage all cringe and start crying.
>Some of them shit themselves all over each other.
>Man, these things poop a lot.
>They're shaking, silently trembling at your angry display. Some of them are hiding their heads under their hooves, muttering some sort of apology.
>So they're doubly scared when you slam your fist down again. They all start crying.
>”Fwuffy sowwy! Pwease nu scawy noise!”
>Your fluffy starts shaking in your hand.
>”Pwease nu! Nu scawe bwuddahs an' sissies!”
>You step back and compose yourself.
>”You guys see that? After you were so mean to him, your brother doesn't want me to scare you. That's why he's going home with me. Because he's a good fluffy. Good fluffies love all their brothers and sisters, no matter what.”
>You leave before you get mad again.
>They're just foals, you really shouldn't have gotten so upset.
>You've been through school, you read Lord of the Flies, you know how children can get.
>You look down at your fluffy, who still looks heartbroken.
>You hold him to your chest and let his sniffles die down and you walk past the cages of adult fluffies still clamoring to be adopted.
>No thanks, guys. I got the one I wanted already.


>At the front, filling out the paperwork is pretty straightforward.
>The shelter guy helps get you set up with all the stuff you'd need for fluffy care.
>Some extra soft blankets to serve as a bed, since this guy wouldn't be able to climb into a regular fluffy bed.
>Same with the litterbox, you need a special one.
>Luckily, they have a kind used for litter training babies.
>It's a very wide, shallow bowl with a slanted rim that only rises an inch and a half above the ground.
>Easy enough for him to drag himself into and do his business.
>Some standard toys, like blocks and a small ball and some fluffy-safe crayons.
>A small carrier, a food bowl, a water bottle, and a bag of fluffy litter.
>And most importantly for you, a Fluffy Pony Owner's Manual Beginner's Edition.
>Gonna need to know this shit forwards and backwards.
>”I don't have this in the store to sell, but you might consider picking up some antiseptics, cotton balls, maybe some rubber bands.”
>”Why?”
>”He gets around by dragging himself on his front paws. His backside just slides along and can get all sorts of abrasions and blisters. You're going to have to check his backside daily, maybe twice a day, for any wounds he gets. If you notice any under the fluff, apply some antiseptic immediately. See if you can get the non-burning kind for kids.”
>”What would the rubber bands be for?”
>”You might need to restrain him while you clean him. If he starts showing a lot of injuries, you'll have to do something to keep him from moving around. It wasn't a problem in his cage, since he didn't really move around much, but I'm gonna guess your place is a bit bigger.”
>”I see. Anything else I should be prepared for?”
>”If you have a safe room, I'd line it with something easy to clean. The way the little guy is, he's probably going to have some troubles reaching his litter....bowl in time.”
>”Is he litter trained at all?”
>”Oh yeah, we try to teach the foals young, while they still have their siblings to encourage and reinforce each other. Just show him where he's supposed to go, and he should do it without any problems.”
>Away from his dismissive siblings, the foal's mood has improved, and he's looking around in wonder at this part of the shelter he's never seen before.
>”You'll also have to give him plenty of baths. His belly and backside will pick up a lot more dirt and crap, and you don't want it getting into any wounds.”
>”Wuv baff!”
>”Luckily for you, he's been cleaned so often that he likes it. He feels happy when he smells nice.”
>”Wan' smeww pwetty!”
>The guy scratches the fluffy on his tummy, and the fluffy giggles and shakes his hooves.
>”Make sure to give him plenty of attention. The last two weeks have ruined his self esteem, and you doing this for him has made him the happiest I've seen in a while. Let him know when you're going to work so he won't think you've abandoned him. Even if you've had a rough day, try to put on a happy face for him. I guarantee you, spending even a few minutes with a fluffy after a long day at work will brighten you right up.”
>”Don't worry, he'll be getting plenty of love.”
>You tickle his tummy.
>”Nuuuuuuu! Nu mo' tickwes!” He laughs very loudly.
>”Ignore him. He loves tickles.”
>”Any special diet rules I need to follow?”
>”Nope. Like I said earlier, his insides are perfectly fine. He's been fully weaned, but give him soft food for at least a month while his teeth fully set. Tender rice, soft vegetables, and the s-word.”
>”S-word?”
>He nods towards the fluffy that is now rolling with laughter as you rub his tummy.
>”Oh yeah. Spaghetti, right?”
>The guy facepalms.
>”Sketti? Fwuffy wan' sketti! Pwease can haf' sketti?”
>He babbles on and on, even through your tickles.
>”Whoops. Listen, buddy, we'll get you some spaghetti when we get home, OK? Daddy just has to finish talking to this nice man.”
>To his credit, the foal shuts up immediately.
>You hand over the cash for him, and the guy signs off on all the paperwork.
>”Congratulations, he's yours.”
>”Ballin'. What do I owe you for the starter kit?”
>He looks at the pile of stuff, then at you.
>”You know what? Don't worry about it. It's on me.”
>”Really?”
>”Sure. That foal probably would have been put down after awhile. This way, he has a chance to be happy. It's great that you're doing this.”
>He hands you the shelter's business card.
>”Don't hesitate to call if you have any questions. In fact, call me in a few days to let me know how it's going.”
>”Thanks, dude.”
>You collect the stuff and take it out to your car, placing your new fluffy in the carrier with a blanket.
>”So soff! Fwuffy wuv soff bwanket!”
>You make a quick stop at the drugstore to grab the other supplies he recommended, along with a box of spaghetti and tomato sauce.
>It's easy setting everything up in the safe room. Your fluffy is just so awestruck by....absolutely everything in your apartment.
>”Wha dat?”
>”It's a couch. I sit on it.”
>”Wha dat?”
>”That's a refrigerator, it's where I keep my food.”
>”Wha dat?”
>”That's a chair. I sit on that too.”
>”What dat?”
>”Hey, who wants some spaghetti?”
>”SKETTI!”



>You sit on the couch, softly petting the now very full fluffy lying in your lap.
>He has dined like a king on that most desirable of Italian foodstuffs: spaghetti.
>With delight in his tummy and a few stray marina stains on his face, he lies there, occasionally smacking his lips as he remembers the delicious meal he just had.
>You flip through the Fluffy Owner Manual with your free hand.
>Doesn't seem as bad as you thought it might be.
>It's mostly common sense pet care tips.
>You have his bed all set up, his food bowl in the kitchen and his water bottle set up in his safe room.
>His toys are near his bed, along with his litterbox.
>Yeah, it's more like a bowl, but you know what I mean.
>The room has blocks put in all the electric sockets, and it seems like everything is as it needs to be.
>Still can't shake the feeling you've forgotten something, though.
>”You OK down there, little buddy? You're kinda quiet.”
>Your fluffy rolls over and reaches out to you with his front (and only) legs.
>You oblige him and hold him next to your face again.
>He hugs your face and licks your cheek.
>”Wuv new daddy! Wuv skettis! Wuv evwyfing!”
>You laugh.
>”I'm glad. I think it's time for you to go to bed, though.”
>The fluffy yawns loudly in agreement.
>You carry him to his bed and lay him down, helping him get comfortable in his blankets.
>”You need anything before I go to sleep, little guy? Some water or something?”
>”Nu, fank yoo, daddy. Daddy...”
>”Yes?”
>”Am good fwuffy?”
>You pet him.
>”Of course you are, you're a very good fluffy. Why?”
>”Otha fwuffies say good fwuffies haf names. Good fwuffy can haf name?”
>Godammit. You knew you forgot something.